


Gone to Vinegar

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, I ruin everything., One Shot, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: What if Vera had been the one to confront the Governor with photos of that one, treasured inmate?





	Gone to Vinegar

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought about this hypothetical... I'm sorry for being so terrible. I'll write nicer things soon. xx

Straight to ruin, Deputy Governor Vera Bennett has gone to vinegar.

The printer whirs and hums. Second by second ticks on the clock fastened to the wall. A standard eight by eleven spits out. The face on the page glistens. Blown out of proportion, the ink of the photo _bleeds_.

She yanks it from the hungry machine. Within her grasp, the paper dog ears. It lazily flops. She smooths out the image and stares at the face that looks head on. Her brow furrows.

This is the photo of the inmate who changed Ferguson’s life forever.

Jianna Riley and Vera Bennett lock eyes.

Two fingers trace the soft curve of her jaw. She studies the wiry curls pulled back in a ponytail and scrutinizes the vulnerability that once matched her own. She tries to feel for the sake of feeling. These does engage in a staring contest. Dread pools in the pit of her stomach along with something so foreign to her: jealousy.

She swallows the lump in her throat.

She doesn't understand the story. Doesn't try to sympathize - to empathize - though the old Vera would have.

Deputy Governor Bennett turns herself to stone. She thanks her mentor for that.

Everything's gone corrupt.

Dutifully, she marches towards the Governor's office. She knocks on the door. Once, twice. Purposeful, rapid succession. Vera awaits confirmation before entry.

Joan Ferguson glances up from her work. She remains large and in charge, her hands folding in her lap though she does not twiddle her thumbs. She hasn't the time for that.

A set of four pencils align themselves perfectly across the vast expanse of her desk. Narrowed eyes regard her subordinate. Things have fallen apart between them.

Steadfast.

“Make it quick. I haven't all day,” Joan quips.

Efficient and to the point, she sets her expectant stare upon the woman who she's cultivated for the crowns.

“You've been coveting information, Guv'na,” Vera replies rather mechanically. She cannot recognize the sound of her voice or herself these days. “You had an... intimate relationship with an inmate. That defies protocol.”

An upper lip twitches.

Joan won't give her “enemy” the satisfaction of such a pivotal fall from grace.

“Have you any proof to back up this...” She flicks her wrist. “-outlandish claim?”

The mouse steps further into the lion's den. She sets the photograph down on the desk, pushing past the barricade of pencils.

“Inmate, Jianna Riley, from Blackmoore.”

“What are you doing?!” Joan demands.

Wide-eyed and incredulous, the Governor gawks. Scoffs. The well-timed composure dissipates. She snaps out her question, barks out the pain.

Now, Vera has adopted the warfare tactics of her predecessor. She conveys nothing. Her brows draw together, her bun as tight as her resolve. Solemnly, she folds her hands in front of herself. She mirrors her idol.

Joan stares at the photograph. Meticulous fingers twitch one by one. The well-oiled machine that is her being begins to spark. She thinks of Jianna, sweet and soft, resting her head upon her lap. She thinks of Vera, her hand upon her shoulder.

To Jianna, she promised safety. To Vera, she promised greatness.

These worlds collide and she experiences the inevitable clash.

In a furious swipe, she snatches the image from her line of sight. The paper crinkles and curls beneath her grasp. Like an irate viper, it hisses. Later, in solitude, she will whisper to Jianna how _sorry_ she is. Though she may kiss the image, it won't bring her back. It folds against her chest.

She beats the crumpled paper against her thigh three times. Then, suddenly, she stands.

“I've sent this information to the board along with a filed report of your misconduct,” Vera continues, her sea-water eyes unyielding in their cruelty.

It shouldn't have gone down this way, but it is.

And it does.

The back of Joan's hand collides with a ruddy cheek. She recoils and strikes again. Teeth shatter upon the impact. They cut into Vera's gum. Her cheek reddens. She licks up the blood, metal on her tongue that's as bitter as the Shiraz she swallowed down.

“How _dare_ you-- I **trusted** you and you do this to me. Get out. At once.”

Miss Bennett wets her lips. They're awfully chapped. She says no more, rubbing the wound and the flesh that knots. Vera walks towards the door though she hesitates. It's a glimpse into the timid woman she used to be.

“--I know you loved her,” she says with shocking clarity. “You loved her as much as I loved you.”

The door closes behind her.

Joan stands in the center of the room, frozen marble incarnate, her head downcast in her impending ruin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to Chelsea Wolfe's "Virginia Woolfe Underwater" really set the mood and pace for this.


End file.
